i crave moments

between the spaces

of boy meets girl,

the possibility that boy

makes a better door

than window

standing between girl

and her high-heeled

true love

i crave moments

between the spaces

of girl meets boy,

the possibility that girl

makes a better friend

than lover

routing for boy

and his modern-day

valiant prince

i crave moments

between the spaces

of boy meets girl,

the possibility that love

is love, and more

than just a punchline.

Today, a man asked me:

"How are you?"

instead of replying:

"Good"

like I always tend to lie, 

I answered with the truth:

"I don't know."

He asked me:

"Are you depressed?"

No one has seemed to notice.

I am slowly losing myself,

collapsing and breaking

into a million pieces of glass

except no one acknowledges,

my internal bleeding

or the scars that I hide

beneath the sleeves of my fabric.

I wanted to breakdown

and cry into that stranger's arms

but I could not. 

He noticed.

I see her in here, with me. My wife. Her neck sits at a slightly crooked angle, as if someone had snapped it bare handedly, but still, I see her in here, with me, alive and beautiful as ever.

She flips her hair back and whispers something into my ear. I feel her warm breath on my cheek. I smell her perfume, but it does not smell like lilac and vanilla the way I remember, it smells like blood. I shake my head and clear my thoughts, must be my imagination. I always did have a wild imagination. I became a writer because of it. Murder mysteries had always been my specialty. She always joked that it was fortunate for her that she was so plain, or else she would wind up murdered like one of the gorgeous woman that I liked to kill off in my novels. I always told her that she was the loveliest woman I had ever seen. Those woman had nothing on her.

She laughs at a joke I said. Her laugh, I have never in my life heard a sound as beautiful and as lilting as her laugh. There is nothing in this world that I can compare it too. My only joy, the only thing I need to survive, even more than food or oxygen, is to hear that sound. Every night, I lay awake and struggle to think of new things to do, so that I can hear her laugh again. I love every bit of it, from when it is loud and piercing, to when all she can manage are little gasps, as she struggles to breathe between her giggles.

I reach out to grab her hands. I long to look into her eyes. I do not touch anything. I do not see anything. She begins to scream. I remember that scream. "Please let go of me." I want her to stay with me. I want her to be quiet. I squeeze tighter. The screams quiet down. It all rushes back to me. When did it happen? It must have been years ago. My pale, bony hands turn red, but today it is not with her blood. Today, it is with mine. My breaths are gasping, they sound so much like her's did. I remember her at her very last moment, she lay in a puddle of her own blood, her cheekbones had been stained a cherubic shade of pink. She looked so elegant, as if she was simply a fictional beauty. Was this all a dream? My hair is wet. My hands are wet. My face is wet. Moments ago, I had been struggling to breath, but now I am breathing easily. She bends down over me and her blond hair falls over her face. She smells like lilac and honey. She kisses me. I see her in here, with me, dead and beautiful as ever. 

i like people

who admit everything

they've done

the good,

the bad,

the ugly

because

an honest beast

is better

than a lying beauty.

So picture this: you're doing something physically taxing. 

I'm thinking maybe a run or strenuous hike, like one of those hikes that seems to go uphill since yesterday. Whatever it is you're engaged in, 

You are soaked with sweat. But this reality doesn't quite hit you

Until you stop to rest, you lean against something 

And your shirt-your moist, soggy shirt-

Presses against your back and it feels like a slug or squid or some other gross slimy thing from nightmares 

And you arch your back trying to get away but there's no getting away

And you start to think it would be better

To carry on your trek without the shirt

No matter how exposed and vulnerable and maybe embarrassed you might be. 

Or picture you're just getting home from a long day at work. Like, a really long day where everyone called out and you had to cover every single shift. 

And you sit for the first time all day, it feels like the first time since childhood. 

And you take off your shoes. 

And your feet would sing hallelujah if they could. 

Now, these could be the most expensive shoes in the world,

The most comfortable pair of shoes you've ever worn, it feels like you're walking on clouds and rainbows and marshmallow fluff. 

But you've been wearing them all day and it feels so good to take them off and, in this moment, you think how nice it would be to never have to put them on again. 

Or have you ever driven home from work and when you pull into your driveway

It's like you just woke up even though you were never asleep? 

You have zero recollection of even starting your car, pulling away from work and onto the freeway. 

This is nicknamed Highway Hypnosis. 

It happens when your brain is so accustomed to and bored by the routine 

That it can just sort of turn off. 

Look, I don't mean to call you names like wet shirt

But I think these are all pretty good metaphors about our relationship. 

I'm sorry and I'm not sorry 

But I just can't do this anymore, 

The relationship, that is.

Metaphors to describe it I can keep doing. 

Seizing with glass eyes

Flesh casks

Deboned and collapsing

And rising embalmed

With smokey projections

Abandoned hollow and

They wander hysterically

Brick on brick 

I'm putting a barrier around me

Waiting to hear a sound 

Or somebody to come 

I had already lost hope

So numb, so numb

Will somebody notice me somewhere out there? 

All of a sudden 

My heart began to race 

I felt alive again 

I rushed the wall, trying to brace

Somebody had noticed me somewhere inside of me

I believe in many things,

much of which I know to be true.

Like the sun is hot, ice is cold

And the kindness of others can be contagious.

I believe in the creator.

I also believe that the pure relationship that man once had with his creator has been corrupted and

demonized by those who would be considered

Impure and unclean in the eyes of the most Holy.

I believe it is an abomination to distort all of the words given by God to man.

That has happened.

I believe that many have been lead astray by men who would rather be important in their community than be right with God!

All Christ came to do was to let you know that God is all about Love, not Hate, not war, not strife juts pure unadulterated sweet all encompassing Love because once you have that, there is no room for strife, no room for hate, and the thought of war does not even enter your mind.

Look upon each other wth love and be grateful for that person in your life.

I believe God sends people to us to help,

I believe God sends people to help us in our time of need.

Don't put God in a nice neat box and call that your religion. How can you?

It says in the scriptures that God is Omnipotent,

The Alpha and Omega and The Great I Am!

You can't fit that in a box!

I have a spiritual relationship with the creator.

This is my view. It's ok if you disagree.